The Sovereign Auditor: World Liquidation.

The clock on the lobby wall clicked. 3:00 AM.

I’d been awake for twenty-seven hours. My eyes felt like someone had rubbed them with sandpaper. 

My shift at Nova-Tech had officially ended ten hours ago, but the schedule didn't matter when Young Master Zhao had a hangover.

Manager Wei had shoved a stack of files into my chest at 5:00 PM. "Zhao isn’t coming in. You’re doing his floor. And don't even think about leaving until these are audited. If there’s one mistake, your sister’s medical subsidy is gone. Clear?"

It was Yue’s birthday. I had a plastic rose in my bag and a cupcakes box that was probably stale by now. I didn’t say a word. I just worked.

"Han Sen! Are you deaf?" I snapped my head up. A courier from the night desk was staring at me. He looked annoyed.

"The CEO’s son needs these documents at the Grand Imperial Hotel. Room 902. Now. Get moving, trash-boy."

I grabbed the confidential manila envelope. My hands shook from the caffeine and the hunger. I didn't care about the hotel. I didn't care about Zhao. I just wanted to finish this, get my pay, and see Yue.

The rain outside was a cold, needles-on-skin deluge. I didn't have a car. I didn't have taxi money. I ran. 

By the time I reached the Grand Imperial, my cheap suit was soaked through, sticking to my ribs like a second, shivering skin.

The elevator was gold-plated. It mocked me. I looked at my reflection in the polished metal—hollow cheeks, dark circles under my eyes, a man who looked ten years older than twenty-four.

Ding.

Floor nine. The hallway smelled like expensive lilies and money. I reached Room 902. The door was slightly ajar. I heard laughter. Loud, sharp, and cruel.

"Oh, Zhao... you're terrible," a woman giggled.

My heart stopped. I knew that voice. I’d heard it every day for five years. I’d heard it whisper promises when we were sharing a bowl of instant noodles in my cramped apartment.

I pushed the door open. The suite was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the city lights, but I only saw the couch.

Young Master Zhao was lounging there, his silk shirt unbuttoned. And sitting on his lap, her fingers tracing the gold watch on his wrist, was Lin Xiao.

My Lin Xiao.

The envelope slipped from my numb fingers, hitting the carpet with a dull thud. Zhao looked up. He didn't look surprised. He looked bored. "Oh, look. The delivery boy is early."

Lin Xiao froze. She turned her head. For a second, I saw a flash of guilt in her eyes. 

Then, she saw my wet hair, my muddy shoes, and the plastic rose sticking out of my pocket. The guilt vanished. It was replaced by a cold, hard disgust.

"Han Sen," she said. Her voice was flat. No apology. No shock.

"Why?" I managed to choke out. The word felt like a shard of glass in my throat. "Lin Xiao... why are you here?"

Zhao laughed, a loud, barking sound. He squeezed her waist, pulling her closer. 

"Why do you think, Han Sen? Look at you. You smell like the gutter. You’ve got mud on your face. You’re a trial employee who cleans toilets when I’m not around."

I ignored him. I looked at her. "Today is Yue’s birthday. We were supposed to... I bought you a gift. I’ve been working twenty-four hours to pay for her marrow transplant."

Lin Xiao stood up. She walked over to me, her designer heels clicking on the marble floor. She reached into my bag and pulled out the plastic rose.

"This?" She asked, holding it up like it was a piece of rotting garbage. "You bought me a plastic flower from a gas station, Han Sen?"

"It’s all I could afford after the medicine," I said. My voice was trembling. "I told you, once the surgery is over—"

"Once the surgery is over, you’ll still be a loser," she snapped. 

She threw the rose onto the floor and stepped on it. The plastic crunching sound echoed in the silent room. 

"I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of being poor. I’m tired of smelling like the cheap bus you ride every day. Zhao bought me a bag tonight that costs more than your yearly salary."

"He’s using you," I said, my fists clenching at my sides. "And you’re using me as an emotional crutch," she countered. 

"Don't look at me like that. You should be thanking me. If I hadn't started seeing Zhao, he would have fired you weeks ago. Consider this my final gift to you."

Zhao stood up, walking over to stand beside her. He looked at me like I was a bug he was deciding whether to squash or ignore.

"You heard the lady, Han," Zhao sneered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. He peeled off a single $100 bill.

He didn't hand it to me. He let it flutter through the air, landing in the puddle of rainwater that had dripped off my coat.

"There," Zhao said, a predatory grin spreading across his face. "That’s more than you’ll make this week. It’s for your sister’s medicine. Consider it a tip for the delivery."

I stared at the bill in the water. My blood was starting to boil, a slow, dark heat rising from my stomach.

"Pick it up," Zhao commanded. I didn't move.

"I said, pick it up!" Zhao’s voice dropped an octave. He stepped closer, the smell of expensive brandy hitting me. 

"Or better yet... dance for it. Lin Xiao says you’re a hard worker. Show me. Give me a little dance, and maybe I’ll give you another hundred. Your sister needs it, doesn't she? She’s dying, right?"

"Don't talk about my sister," I whispered. "I'll talk about whatever I want!" Zhao barked. "I own the company. I own this hotel. 

And right now, I own your girl. Now, pick up the money and dance, you pathetic dog!"

Lin Xiao laughed. It was a soft, melodic sound that cut deeper than any blade. "Go on, Han Sen. Do it for Yue. You were always so good at being a martyr."

I looked at her. I looked at the woman I had loved, the woman I had starved for so she could have a decent meal. She was a stranger.

"No," I said. The smile slid off Zhao’s face. He looked at me, genuinely confused. "What did you say?"

"I said no," I replied, my voice steady now. Cold. "Keep your money. You’re going to need it."

Zhao’s face turned a violent shade of red. He let out a sharp whistle.

From the shadows of the suite’s entryway, four men stepped out. They were huge, wearing black suits that strained against their muscles. In their hands, they carried short, heavy lengths of lead pipe.

They didn't look like hotel security. They looked like butchers.

"I gave you a chance to be a clown," Zhao hissed, backing away and putting his arm around Lin Xiao. "But you want to be a hero? Fine."

The bodyguards circled me, their boots heavy on the carpet. They tapped the pipes against their palms. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

"Break his legs," Zhao said, his voice casual. "And make sure you film it. I want to show his sister how her big brother looks when he’s begging for his life."

The lead guard stepped forward, a nasty scar running down his cheek. He raised the pipe high.

I stood my ground. My heart was thumping against my ribs like a trapped bird. I had nothing. No money. No power. No hope.

The pipe swung down.